"’Tis that ye’ll let me watch th’ owd Maister th’ neet-time through. I knawed him when he war a young un, an’ I knawed him when he wedded th’ first wife, an’ I nursed ye all fro’ babbies. ’Twould be kindly, like, to let me sit by him this last neet of all." "That was to be my care, Nanny. Dost want me to let a second chance slip by of honouring father?" "Now, doan’t tak things so mich to heart—doan’t, lad, there’s a dearie—an’ I axe your pardon for so miscalling ye, I’m sure, seeing ye’ve grown out o’ nursing-clothes. Ye’ve getten a tidy handful o’ wark afore ye, an’ Witherlee says to me this varry afternooin, ’Nanny,’ says he, ’them Ratcliffes is up an’ astir like a hornet’s nest; I’m hoping th’ Waynes ’ull bring swords an’ sharp e’en to th’ burying, for we can noan on us tell what ’ull chance,’ he says. That war what Witherlee said, just i’ so many words; an’ though he’s like a three-legged stool about a house, allus tripping ye up wheniver ye stir, he can do part thinking time an’ time, can Witherlee. I war coming to axe ye afore he spoke, for I war fain to see th’ last o’ th’ owd Maister; but I war up i’ a brace o’ shakes at after he’d gi’en me that notion, for I could see ’at a man wodn’t frame to fight varry weel on th’ top of a long neet’s wakefulness." Nanny paused for breath, and the young Master took advantage of a break that might not come soon again. "The Ratcliffes will wait till after the burying. There’s scant need for aught save wet eyes to-morrow, Nanny," he said. "Well, that’s as it mun be; an’ what mun be nowt ’ull alter, so we willun’t fash ourselns. But for owd love’s sake, Maister, ye’ll let me bide by thy father? ’Tis long since I axed owt, big or little, of ye Waynes, an’ ye’ll noan deny it me, now, will ye?" Shameless Wayne, as he had said, was in a soft mood, and Nanny’s sharp face was so full of entreaty that he saw it would be a bitter blow to her if he denied the boon. "Have it as thou wilt," he said. "Father was always kindly in his thoughts of thee, Nanny, and it may please him better than any watching of mine could do." Rolf Wayne of Cranshaw, meanwhile, had ridden over to Marsh to see if there were aught that he could do; and Nell, meeting him as he came in at the hall door, gave him a warm welcome, for the late quarrel with her brother had left her sad, and the silence of the death-chamber fostered such sort of misery. "Rolf, my step-mother has come back, and Ned has welcomed her," she said, after they had talked awhile of this and that in hushed voices. "What! Mistress Wayne come back?" "Yes, mad as a marshland hare, with all her old pleading ways so deepened that she has won Ned clean over to her side." "Fairy-kist, is she?" "Aye—though, to my thinking, she was always near to it." "Then, lass, there’s no room for anger. Let her be; ’tis ill-luck crossing such, and we have need——"